The song quoted here is a popular song. The Magpie. I was based on the interpretation of the group of Unthanks. Tchaikovsky's Sentimental Waltz is also cited.
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XX - Death in Venice
Venice : Samain : 1929
Night falls over Venice, as two shadows hurry across its stone streets. The first one is swift, concealed by a masque and some long black cloak. A barefoot man in a bure robe with a rope belt is prancing along. They look like some drunken monk and his dark lackey heading to the Fool's Carnival, a dark wicked cloud surrounding them. A passer-by crosses himself: "Il diavolo sinistra l'inferno". But the monk and his shadow melt away in the night between the cold lanterns. They steal a boat and sail in silence on a canal's black water. A distant bell sounds the death knell while the monk laughs with delight. The black shadow makes a sign of the cross out of respect for the dead.
Their boat finally grounds on gray stairs, facing the closed doors of an old palace. Time has eaten away its facade, but the beautiful stone lacework is still there all around the Gothic ribbed vaults. The man takes off his mask. His face uncovered, he invokes a few signs and the doors open.
The hall is large and empty. The whole house looks like a big empty carcass. His footsteps reverberate on the dark marble floor. The man stops. He takes a deep breath and declares: "Io, Giacomo Bellini, mago della casa di vita, autorizzo Set a entrare in questa casa''
The Franciscan slips into the house after him. They slowly cross the dark hall, walk around the huge statue of Thoth. Behind is an alcove, with a small altar, where two gods with animal heads, a Sha and a bull, stand face to face. Between the two, a door. The man precedes the monk in the narrow staircase that leads to a large room lit by luminous globes. The walls are pierced with niches sheltering parchments. In the center of the room stands a long ebony table, with ornate leather chairs. At the end of this table, in front of the fire, a woman sits.
The man and the monk reach the end of this table after what has seemed, in the heavy silence that only the fire crackling's breaks, a sad eternity. The woman slowly raises her head. She is a beautiful old lady, with a haughty head, draped in black, her white hair pulled up in an elaborate hairstyle. She holds out a ringed hand to the newcomers, and they both kiss it. When the young man stands up, she meets his gaze. Who knows then what they said to each other, during these long moments of silence and deep understanding? She whispers gently to him:
"It's not too late yet Giacomo…
- I am sorry, Nonna. "
And, with a certain regret, he turns on his heels and goes back. The lady follows him with her eyes. The monk meanwhile watches the room with a satisfied smile, wallows in an armchair, playing with his rope belt.
"It's been a long time since I saw these walls. And your face, Lucrezia. What could have been never happened. No regrets ?
- No Set. I have no regrets. I would only have dug a grave for myself.
- You did worse though. You got married.
- What better than a Bellini to guard oneself against the Lord of Chaos?
- Power scared you. You are only the children of slaves and whores after all, the offspring of rape. "
His face twists in contempt.
"Grocers. Let's bargain then. See my host? He's dying, and I've only had him for ten hours.
- So it's a host you're looking for?
- Not only.
- Despite our… preferences, we are still of the House of life, men of Per Ankh.
- Who arrested half of yours. You have always had a foot in each camp, dear Lucrezia. And then, what Iskandar does not know can hardly harm him ... Your grandson may well inform him, he will never have more than half truths.
- Very well Set. I will find this host for you. I will train it, I will deliver it to you. That's a lot, isn't it ?
- Not enough. "
He leans into her ear and whispers a few words to her. A slight grin lights up the sorceress' face.
"It has got its price, she replies.
- Still the same?
- Four services; four lives.
- Very good. Let's go then. Chi li reclama?
– La Casa Bellini.
– I nomi ? »
Slowly, solemnly, Lucrezia places a tablet of wax in front of her. She traces names there, surrounded by cartridges.
« Bonifacio Voiello – lo voglio morto. »
She blows and the wax melts away. She then writes down other names, repeating the process.
« Paetores Agrippa Arminius et Arabella Sharp – morti.
Arthur Chase – morto.
Michel Desjardins – morto.
Amen »
She finally whispers to herself.
"Amen" echoes the infernal monk, amused.
« Quegli anni a venire saranno piuttosto impegnati. »
Then, leaning towards Lucrezia, he promises: « Stanotte la morte è a Venezia. »
He finally disappears in a big red cloud smelling of sulfur.
Meanwhile, the young man with the plague mask, Giacomo Bellini, runs again along yet another canal, far from the family home. He jumps from bridge to bridge, free and terrified by this atrocious foreboding, the feeling of having missed something. He flees more than he exults, and the monk's laughter at the knell sound is engraved in a corner of his memory. But as he passes on the other bank, on the other side of the grand canal, that of the dead, he finds the infernal wedding, a long torchlight procession.
An infernal crowd glides like ghosts on the stone pavements, walking their gold and silver lanterns along the old facades. There are faces which do not show themselves in broad daylight, spirits and monsters which only emerge during these hours of the dog, these carnivals of terror, their masks floating in a row along the narrow quays.
And behold, the shadows enter Neptune's palace, shimmering with gilding, oozing crystal, dripping with light. Carried by the rumor rising from the canal, the masks float on waves of feathers and gleaming jeweled fabrics. If it is a phantom wedding, if it is a wedding from another time, then it is that of the conquistadors and the Borgia popes, that of the astronomers, the cardinal-poets and of the oil painting's secret.
The devils, harlequins, birds, and all these fantastic beasts are now rushing in the big rooms. Here they are, waltzing with monsters and spirits, with the manes of the dead, and all of Venice's lemurs Venice.
Alice climbs up the red and flowery staircase that leads to the hellish dances, for Neptune's palace this evening is a door that goes straight to hell. Alice knows well this world of night, for her voice has haunted so many parties, and her talents have charmed so many crowds! But tonight, she's just one mask among many, and she too blends into the dances of death. The fever is in her, the fire of the festival embraces her being in a magical conflagration. (On this day we will play gods, we will enjoy like the devil does, and the masquerade is already all around her, and how magnificent and opulent those masked people are!)
When she was little, whores wore glassware, princes crowns of paper-mache. When she was little, kings had their necks sliced in her history books and the god was eaten like a small cookie. (Her god now she drinks it, she swallows it, tastes it, and the fire in her veins, well she recognizes him: he calls him by name. And again the masks turn and turn.
For Desdemona Sforza, standing on the gallery's balcony, in her green mask, this carnival is a just a scene. A woman is by her side, clad in dark blue velvet, with a night owl mask, her rounded belly pointing out from under her dress. Her red lips have a carnivorous laugh, and the specters avoid them as she cuts through the hall. Some even bow to her and her partner. The night owl then whispers a few words to Desdemona, and leaves the great hall. She crosses a swarm of specters that scatter at her approach. She opens a door, and enters in an adjoining drawing room. A shadow follows her and closes the door behind them. She turns around, startled. The man in black then removes his plague mask.
"You? I never expected to see you here again.
- Hello Maria, it's you then. I suspected it.
- I heard about you, she said with disdain. Of what you've become.
- Then rejoice.'' He said with a smile. "Here we are, comrades of infamy. "
He nodded towards her plump stomach.
" A bastard ? I expected no less from you. You've always been the fiercest, haven't you?
- Stay away, Bellini, she threatens.
- You are scared ?
- My kinsmen's blood stains your hands.
- Believe me, I'm not the one you should fear in here. Your enemies are much more terrible than I am.
- You don't know anything. I am home here. You are nothing anymore.
- In that you are mistaken, for you have been away from Venice for far too long as well, my beauty. You don't know what's going on there. You are no longer welcome. "
He walks through the space that separates them in the room.
"Maybe I'm an outcast and a snitch now. But you, dear Maria, carry the scent of death like a perfume. "
Maria slaps him. Giacomo bursts out laughing. She then turns on her heels and emerges into the great room. She slips into the compact crowd and disappears there.
There must be as many dead men as there are living in this festival. Soldiers, demigods, of course. Druids and Vates, diviners and omens, prophetesses. Witches, banshees, satyrs, elves, nymphs and those poisoned naiads from the Venetian canals. But it's impossible to guess for sure on this gigantic stage that is the parterre of dancers. A large gallery surrounds the room. One monumental double marble staircase leads there. Above, alongside the mask of the devil, Laura Bellini under her Medusa mask, beats the rhythm with her foot, impatient. She stiffens as she feels a great cold in her neck. It is just a Lemur leaning over her, as a cloud of specter surrounds them. She shivers petrified. A few words are heard, and the specter recedes. She turns around.
Behind, her sister Chiara, wearing a moon mask, bursts out laughing, then grabs the specter by the hand, as he leads her in a dance. Her little sister waltzes with the dead under the large chandelier, and fear embraces Laura Bellini. She looks for Orfeo in the crowd, but down below there is only a compact mass of bodies and adornments, an anonymous ocean. The devil strokes her shoulder.
"So when do we move on? She grouches. Enough of this masquerade!
- Soon, the devil whispers to her. Have some patience. The priestess must yet sing. "
His eyes watch over the crowd.
"The feline masks, inquires Laura. These are their costumes."
The devil stiffen to her side.
" No regrets ?" whispers a black bitch behind him.
"Olympus is blind tonight. I'm addressing the chtonian gods "replies the devil.
The bitch chuckles. "They don't respect any of them.''
The devil is still watching the crowd.
"Are you looking for your princess?''
He does not answer.
Downstairs the orchestra carries on with the Sentimental Waltz and the dancers slide in time. The ball's fever carries Alice away. Just like all spectators, she's waiting for the finale, the end of the mystery. She wanders the room, admiring the beauty of the moment. Two masks move aside in front of her, a Turk and a Tiger, and a red-haired girl comes forward, with black eyes, a long dark dress, whose sleeves are like two large crow wings. She stands in front of Alice and looks at her beyond her clothes, filled with one grave and agile sadness. A dull melancholy then falls on her, radiating from the girl, exhaling from the dancers.
"Who are you ?'' Alice asks in a whisper. "You are the only one who isn't hiding. "
And her heart beats, beats, beats facing the sadness of those black eyes.
"My face is a mask, the red-haired girl tells her. I am Morrigan. "
"Morrigan… you bring us war then." "
Morrigan laughs : "It's time to sing Alice. You know this time I think? "
Suddenly she raises her hand. The orchestra falls silent. Morrigan, loose flamboyant hair crosses the crowd, and slowly climbs onto the platform, between masks and feathers, onto the ocean of adornments. In a tense and absolute silence she lifts a hand again, up to her face. She then counts, pointing out the hosts. She counts with her long pale fingers, which she then hits on her heart :
One's for sorrow
Two's for joy
She begins, in a strong yet tender voice, letting the omens tinkle like metal in the atmosphere. Six words, and already, a slow torpor descends like an avalanche on the dancers. She continues, facing the night bird mask. And her bent index finger promises her :
Three's for a girl and
Four's for a boy
She smiles at Alice, and at the wolf mask perched in the gallery:
Five's for silver
Six for gold
She finally smiles at Desdemona and, her second finger on her heart, she sings for her (and just for her) :
Seven's for a secret never told
Lifting her head towards the sky, her flamboyant, red, erect, swirling hair, here she is exclaiming:
Devil devil i defy thee
A beat, and it seems to Alice that all of her blood has turned to poison. It flows back into her arteries, and all her bones are attacked by a slow corrosion of their molecules.
Devil devil i defy thee
It's like the first time she saw a hieroglyph, as if an entire sphere of the universe, an existence she wasn't supposed to be part of, was rushing through her head.
Devil devil i defy thee
Some sort of excitement, muffled and wild, rushed in along with the fear. The devil, the red devil is leaning over the balcony. His long eyes run over the masks. Singing magic, Alice admits. The whole assembly is in a long trance. She resists at first, then suddenly lets herself be carried away. It's not control, she understands, it's vision.
Oh the magpie brings us tidings
Of news both fair and fowl
She's more cunning than the raven
More wise than any owl
She dreams then, flying above the masks. She dreams of the solstice and of long shadows' processions. She dreams of the crow and of Athena's sons. She dreams of a house where a tree grows.
For she brings us news of the harvest
Of the barley we done called
And she knows when we'll go to our graves
And how we shall be born
The countdown resumes, and Alice remembers. She is sixteen, dancing over a counter, and the whole hall lit with lanterns is like a fragment of a constellation thrown around her colossal laughter. Somewhere, a god answers. The pistols fire in the distance.
One's for sorrow
Two's for joy
She's on a train now, going at full speed. She drops her furs, then her silk, then her lace and slowly undoes the enemy uniform. She takes off the medals, then the boots and the gray canvas, and the train is still rolling towards Dresden with a hurricane's roar.
Three's for a girl and
Four's for a boy
She holds her daughter in her hands and kisses her face. The sea's rumor echoes her tears and in front of her open window the blooming lilacs smell just like spring. They open the door, her son rushes in and she sees it then, in a fleeting second, the kingdom of heaven.
Five's for silver
Six for gold
She meets her father, after Hermes leaves her. In the deserted concert hall, the curtain has long since fallen, and a single man applauds. "Sing for me my daughter." Alice sings. She will never see him again.
Seven's for a secret never told
With the sound of a storm, the world tree cracks from end to end, while the tempest ravages the coasts. "Are we at the end of the world?" Johann laughs, young son of the storm. " Again ? - We're heroes, aren't we? Always. "
Devil devil i defy thee
But here she is in this same room, at the crossroads. The walls are teared apart around her, and suddenly she is in this field, facing Hecate, a dog standing in front of her. She knows this dog, she remembers it, in another song. It's Hecube! Hecube became a hound of Vengeance.
Devil devil i defy thee
Oh, unhappy Hecube! For so many years had she not loved, and kept her commandments, and sacrificed to the duties of morality? But when a god descends on your abode, ruin comes. The ruin never leaves. She comes moaning in the night, she foams your sides, she takes away all kindness. So be it. We must yield to the harsh necessity.
Devil devil i defy thee
Hecate, Hecate, tell me now: "Is it still the present then? - You know very well that time in magic is a complex notion. » We offer you a choice now, Alice, daughter of Phoebus! You have as many doors:
She brings us joy when from the right
Grief when from the left
Of all the news that's in the air
We know to trust her best
We are in Venice, at the boats' departure. Can you see that growing hurricane, sweeping the oats away? So look behind you, but there's no real way back. Look east, to this tender and happy life, and be careful to enjoy the last harvest of happy years.
For she sees us at our labor
And she mocks us at our work
And she steals the extra from out of the nest
And she can mob the hawk
Look south, where Rome and Carthage summon all Europe's heroes to witness their great fight. And the roses bloom there under the last sun, and the asphodel grows in tight groves. It is a path of love. You can save two men.
The priest he says we're wicked
But to worship the devils birth
Ah but we respect the old ways
And we disregard his word
But now see in the North, how two tree worlds grow high on rival hills. North, chaos and steel are coming back in triumph, and so does the reign all these lousy gods of war, the eternal rivals. It is a path of glory. You can save a man.
For we know they rest uneasy
As we slumber in the night
And we'll always leave out a little bit of meat
For the bird that's black and white
But here in the West, as glow the dying sun's last fires, Olympus awaits the return of its sons, trembling on its very foundations. See the terror on their marble faces as, stranded overseas, she looks at the the fire burning her cradle. Perhaps this is the path to wisdom. You can save so many men.
Hecate disappears in a gray haze. Alice opens her eyes as a terrible moan rings out. Two veiled women behind Morrigan are announcing death. The Banshees are crying.
What have the others seen? The rest of this strange company? They stop spinning. A sort of muffled excitement runs through everyone's veins, and they are now an assembly of drum-men waiting for the outcome. Doum, ba-doum! Doum, ba-doum! Then, in the heavy air, the man with the devil's mask advances from the top of the steps. His mantle is strewn with Oghams. Night blue feathers surround his hellish face. He raises his glass to the sky, then pours a libation.
"To Neptune of which we are the hosts, to Hades that we receive, to the Daghda which offers us our food. " And Alice knows that voice that for her sounds in French.
Slowly, the man removes his mask, and the devil gives way to the young man. Johann Orsini walks alone, bareheaded, on the steps, among the masks. The mystical alphabet, Oghams, blazes on his night-blue cloak.
"Brother and sisters, I welcome you to our modest home, though your presence this evening light up new fires!
Now that we are all here satisfied with dancing and drinks, regaled with visions of the future, this is the climax of our meeting. Because our feast of Samain will not be complete without a present to the gods, without a sacred act. "
The Oghams burn on his mantle of abyss, like so many shinny jellyfishes. Alice understands a terrible thing: we should never play at mixing magic. But it's too late, and everything here is turned upside down, and everything is mixed and blurred.
"Make no mistake my friends, our act this evening is not trivial. It is forbidden. Just as this holiday will soon be forbidden. Just as our very lives shall be declared impertinent. The powers facing us do not tolerate any kind of resistance.
For celebrating, as we celebrate, is already resistance. We celebrate the end of the day, the return of the dark season, the season of dead men and horrors, the season of reversals and winter drunkenness. Drinking is resistance. Singing is resistance. Making love is resistance. To enjoy is to resist, to enjoy ourselves everywhere, without obstacles, without ties. For our freedom flourishes where we least expect it. In a bed, on a stage, on a channel open to icy winds.
Friends, you have heard all their great speeches, maybe you've even believed some of them! What do these speeches tell us? That the deterritorialization of the financial markets in the hands of the Jews, that their lack of patriotism, that internationalism bring us ruin, attack and destroy any kind of power that would like to face them. That Communism is spreading like gangrene. That decadence rot Europe! That art is degenerate art!
Certainly all of this is true. The financial markets have collapsed, they have sunk, carried away by their own inanity, they've collapsed on themselves. Yes, misery is everywhere. Yes, it crawls as well in Germany, as it does here, in Veneto. But don't be fooled! There is nothing great, there is nothing beautiful in their nationalist speeches, only theater, masks as empty as those in this room. Lies! Filthy ignorance garbing itself in ideology. I for my part, I do not want to live in a world where they burn books. I don't want a world where musicians are hunted down, where human beings are classified by utility scale. Down with utilitarianism! Down with militarism! Down with all kinds of nationalism! Long live freedom !
So yes ! We are a decadent people. We are bastardized my friends, spoiled like overripe fruits. We are spoiled by art, and light, and poetry. We are spoiled by literature and theater, music and dances. And we don't want this great desert they are selling us, a world turned into a military barracks. We want to walk to the sound of the violin, not the rhythm of the drum! Look at her, isn't our decadence beautiful? She dances, she dances, our deca-dance!
To you, then, who love life, who love laughter above all, with its smell of destruction and blasphemy, with its eternal suspicion of chaos, do not be afraid of this chaos! It is that of free life, it is that of anarchy and democracy, it is just like the sea, terrible and grandiose, unlimited and fluctuating. We can neither contain the sea, nor tame it. We sail it, we ride it, enjoying the happiness of the spray as well as the terror of the abyss.
So how can we get out of all this? How can we get rid of this infamy, this terrible stain, this barren emptiness that our country has become?
Our fathers knew how. The free pagans, before the tyranny of the priest and the flag! Where has he gone, this glorious past? He is in front of us, not behind. So let's be great, my friends, let's be worthy too. And they will say it, in a hundred years, when they learn our names, engraved on the marble of the steps of the Pantheons, they will shout it in response to this question: what did they want? They wanted to be the sky! They never wanted to surrender, never to give up. Because they believed in the Kingdom of Heaven on earth!
So here is what I tell them all, here is what I offer them: death! Death to fascism! Death to dictators! Long live the Universal Republic! "
A movement then takes place in the crowd, as the masks move apart. Two giants, dressed as Cyclops, throw a man to the ground, his wrists bound by long ribbons. The man looks up, trying to keep some semblance of pride. Eyes surround him on all sides.
"My friends, I present to you, Bonifacio Voiello of the House of Life, the head of the Eighth Nome of Egypt. "
A snake's hiss echoed from everywhere. Voiello turns his head, his gaze blank. He watches the masks, listens to the reptilian murmur. Orsini raises his hand, and the hissing stops.
"You see, Voiello was once a great magician. Master of spells, accomplished duelist, worthy of his blood. Worthy of his House. But he degraded himself. He stooped to kiss Mussolini's boots. He sold his dignity, soiled our lands with the seal of fascism and Roman imperialism. These lands, which long before Rome and its eagles, before the long ships of Aeneas ever came, belonged to the free peoples, the Etruscans, the Celts, and the Greeks! "
The banshee again utters its cry of terror. Alice should do something, but her legs have gone liquid. She sees two Tiger masks grabbing Voiello by the shoulders. She sees a dog come forward, followed by a moon. Up there, the Morrigan is singing a song without words.
"There is only one way to wash away a stain. He's yours. "
The dog grabs Voiello's hair and exposes his neck. Very slowly, the moon raises a black knife. It is almost gently that she slits his throat, with a clean incision, and lets the blood flow. The tigers and the dog let go of the body, that crumbles on the marble floor, and walk away. The moon watches the great red puddle wet her silver dress.
"For our dead. "
So, one by one, the dead take off their masks and come to drink the spilled blood. Terrified yet fascinated Alice looks at Lemures and Sluagh kneeling in front of the body, sucking the red liquid. Between them and the rest of the masks, Oghams sparkle, radiating from the man's mantle, guarding them from ghosts. The specters, once satiated, flee from all sides, fly away with screams like hurricanes. They too have become dogs of revenge.
"Go away now, you in this room who have smiled at the return of the legions! Tell Rome that do we want her, as an ally and a friend; but not as a stepmother and mistress! We will no longer be Romans, because here we are Italians, and of all Europe. We choose our destiny, we will forge it with our hands! Go see Rome, and fear nothing tonight, your masks protect you.
And you that the future's foretaste disgust and frighten, have hope! Know that there will always be a place at our side on the benches of the Resistance. "
Masks move aside and flee. Alice's head has gone heavy, it spins and burns. Giacomo takes her by the arm, and they leave the palace. A red glow shines on the grand canal. " What is this ? '' She whispers. "La Casa dell'Angelo. " He answers.
In the night a threat brightens up: the angel's house is on fire. Up there, over the rooftops, the devil is dancing.
Translation from Italian:
Il diavolo sinistra l'Inferno : The devil has left hell.
Io, Giacomo Bellini, mago della casa di vita, autorizzo Set a entrare in questa casa : I, Giacomo Bellini, magician of the House of Life, allow Set to enter this house.
Chi li reclama? : Who claims them?
La Casa Bellini : the Bellini house
I nomi ? : the names?
lo voglio morto : I want him dead
Quegli anni a venire saranno piuttosto impegnati : The coming years will be quite busy
Stanotte la morte è a Venezia : Death is in Venice tonight